


viridi mare

by nakedavenues



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Exes, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Heavy Angst, Kid Fic, M/M, Multi, Mystery, Older Characters, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Secret Relationship, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26789716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakedavenues/pseuds/nakedavenues
Summary: Running away from the past isn't always as it seems.Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, and their choices that keep intertwining their fates years after the war.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	viridi mare

**Author's Note:**

> jkr is transphobic and i don't like her, but i'm attached to drarry and well, this happened. get ready for a trainwreck.

You’re twenty-eight years old, and you’re standing in a ball with a glass of firewhiskey in your hands. You’re twenty-eight years old and there are eyes watching you, like a prey. Because you’re a snake — as a Slytherin you have worn this title with pride, you don’t mind the attention that much, but it’s been a while since you’ve been in the public eye that you’re not sure what to expect. 

You’re twenty-eight years old and a Malfoy and your blood has once made you a celebrity. Unfortunately, your family name doesn’t mean much after choosing the losing side of the war, and you can’t even bring yourself to be bitter about it. You’re twenty-eight, and a Malfoy, and the dark mark on your arm had once made you untouchable in the Wizarding World. Now, instead of your tattooed arm are long sleeves of your suit, thick enough to have morphed you into a civilian instead of a Death Eater.

Your name is Draco Malfoy and you can’t feel the curling of your fingers on the cold glass or the blisters on your foot from your leather shoes. You’re not sure if the tiredness in your bones have managed to translate into corporeality but it’s easy enough to ignore as you wait for a certain pair of eyes to meet yours.

You’ve been hoping to get lost in those seas of green in ten years, and while your relationship was built like the consumption of a sleeping draught, you’ve somehow managed to stay awake through it all. 

So you wait and hope. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Blaise reappears from the dancefloor. His tone is gruff from sleepless nights due to the nature of his work, but you can’t judge, you’re not managing as well as you believe. And while you had hope for seas of green, you weren’t quite referring to the emerald ones that your friend was wearing.

He’s referring to the drink you’re holding, by the way.

You give him a small hum as you tip back the glass onto your mouth to take a sip. The rim is cold against your lips and it makes you realize how long it has been since you last tasted someone on your mouth. The drink washes over your tongue, burning your throat and you’re not sure what taste you're expecting. 

It’s bitter and old, and a lot like you, you suppose.

“It’s delightful,” you lie as a flurry of brown robes pass your vision. You might be hallucinating, but you’re quite sure that the figure is familiar. You blink, and then the person has gone and passed. You meet Blaise’s unconvinced expression. “Not bad at all.”

“I wonder how long it would take for the other Aurors to arrive.” Thankfully, he moves on to another subject. You’re not sure if it’s for the best or worst. Aurors have never made it into the top list of those you would want to associate with, but Blaise Zabini is your friend and he’s one, so you try not to say anything displeasing even if he knows what you really think. Well, partly of what you think.

You’ve been doing a lot of that these past few years. Thinking.

“If you weren’t one, I wouldn’t have agreed to be your bait.” You say dryly. “I’m not even sure why I agreed.”

“Malfoys are delicious.” Blaise snorts. You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting for him to explain more. “People still want to take a bite out of you.”

Whether in a good or bad way, you’ll never know.

“I suppose you’d know about that.” You take another sip from your liquor. Perhaps, it would get you through the night.

“Yeah, whatever,” Blaise bites back without any sign of acid in his tone as waves his hands dismissively. “— that was a one-time thing. I was curious and experimental,” he casts a short look on the lively dance floor. “Besides, Slytherins protect their own.”

You wrinkle your nose, remembering the seas of green. Before, the colour would’ve been associated with the shade of your common room, but right now, it brings you back to memories with Him at Hogwarts — hidden corridors, the back of the quidditch pitch, and dining tables that were worlds apart.

It's already been ten years.

“Oh look, target’s here,” Blaise announces like you don’t notice the person that arrived in the room. He’s one of your business partners, Henry Knox, and Astoria had always disliked the man due to his excessive personality.

 _He’s worse than you,_ she had said before.

You frown as you set down your glass, mood suddenly sours at the thought of your ex-wife even though you both had ended things amicably. 

Love isn’t enough, and never will be.

(But you didn’t love Astoria Greengrass, as much as you tried to believe it. You didn’t love her the way you love Him.)

“If only your sour mood could jail up that bloke,” Blaise notes. 

“And only if your fellow Aurors were competent,” Your shoulders tense. “I have to be early tomorrow to pick up Scorpius.”

“Yeah, well we have to find something incriminating enough to arrest him, mate.” Blaise looks at you pointedly. You know where this is going. “Besides, if we catch Knox now you’d have some good news to share with Astoria.”

“We’re civil, Blaise, but Greengrass and I are not best of friends.”

“Like you and Him were enemies?” Blaise laughs. “Admit it Draco, you both have tea and gossip sessions when you go to pick up Scorpius—”

His words are cut off and drowned by a voice you never expected to hear from again, “Sorry for being late, Blaise! I couldn’t find you around. Who’s our bait — wait, _Malfoy_?”

It seems that whoever is above has decided to make your life miserable. You contemplate your choice to turn around and not face Him, but the moment his eyes meet yours, you find yourself glued to the spot. Your whole being stiffens, and suddenly you’ve barreled back to the sixteen-year-old you, ready to hex someone who dares call you a coward.

It’s not true. You’ve been brave multiple times, and they all proved to be the wrong choices.

Your throat tightens, and shards of the past stab your heart. He has a stubble now, and his round glasses have been swapped to square ones. It’s incredible how you can still recognize the old him underneath all the new changes. 

He once told you that he’s never going to outgrow himself. Looking back now, it’s another item added to the list of lies he's told.

( _You’re too harsh on him,_ a part of you chides. The other parts of you say, _Love has no bounds. He deserves it_.)

“ _Potter_ ,” your eyes narrow at the man in brown robes, standing in front of you — all too real. It’s not your fault there’s vitriol in the tone you say his name. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a toothy grin, reminiscent of the past. The way his lips curve into that grin used to have an effect on you when you were younger, and somehow until now it still does. “It has.”

Harry Potter stands confidently in front of you in a set of brown robes, and even though the clothes are ugly, he exudes exactly the confidence a top-performing Auror in the Ministry would have. He still runs his hair the same way you’ve noticed before when he’s stressed, and you find that there's still a lack of white hair from his unruly mess of black. You attribute this in the good genes of his ancestors because there’s bitterness seeping into your bones when you can’t remember him looking this _alive_ and good. Maybe he did once upon a time, but you trust that your memories will betray you as the scar in your heart hasn’t faded like the mark on your arm.

_Ten years._

Ten years has done him well, then.

Blaise clears his throat. “Well, we might as well start since we’re complete.”

You want to laugh. There was a point in time you’ve heard something similar to those words before. Potter always used to say you were the missing piece to complete his life. But teenagers say a lot of crap, so you’d might have had little faith in what he said. That, and it made you feel like a horcrux.

“What plan did you two have in mind?” You’ve wasted enough time already as your eyes focus on your quarter empty glass on the table. 

“We want you to talk to him and see if he could give you any information about the people he’s meeting later.” Potter says. You’re expecting him to say more, but he only looks at you in the eye. 

“That’s a reassuring plan,” you reply dryly and you hope that your scowl is evident enough on your face for them to reconsider what they’re asking you. They could’ve done this themselves, but no, they brought you here and now you’re twenty-eight years old stuck in a boring ball with what you can classify as your best friend and an almost stranger, but the feelings embedded in your chest are eighteen years old and an effect the same as the Cruciatus curse. 

You still need at least five more glasses of a liquor stronger than firewhiskey before you can ask them the real reason they needed you.

A part of you hopes that the reason for your presence is because of what you think it is, but life has always managed to prove you wrong in every sense so you’re confused and stuck helping them out. 

At least, the Aurors needing your help is a good boost for your ego. It’s been so long since it’s been stroked.

Blaise tilts his head, an amused expression on his face like the bloody Slytherin he is. You wonder if his life is truly that boring that your suffering amuses him dearly. However, you can always get payback in another way, so you can’t really agonize over it.

“So,” he says. “Are you in on the plan?”

You shrug, turning your back on them as you scour the dance floor to find the man in dark purple robes. It’s easy enough to spot him from the crowd — he’s been looking at you apparently, and he raises his glass of firewhiskey as he makes his way to you.

No wonder why Astoria hated him. Smug fucking arsehole.

“Mr. Malfoy,” You have half a mind to walk away from the man. Your family name is harmless, but the way Henry Knox says it makes you feel as if you’re the second coming of your father. He holds an outstretched hand for you to shake. “It’s a pleasure to see you here.”

“I can’t decide if I feel the same, Mr. Knox.” You say as you shake his palm with your gloved fingers. “But, I’m sure you can change my thoughts.”

“How about a dance, Mr. Malfoy?” He holds your hand like fragile glass, expectant for you to accept. It’s unusual for two men to dance out in the open, and even with the progress of time, there’s still stigma regarding a simple act. You don’t mind though. You’re being called worse things, and there’s truth in your homosexuality you’ve never denied. 

You let him lead you to the dancefloor, not far enough for Blaise and Potter’s sight. 

“Shall I lead, Mr. Malfoy?” Henry asks.

“Draco,” you correct as he puts an arm around your waist. You try to ignore the burning itch on your fingers as he takes your hand. “We’ve been business partners for almost a year.”

“Yet, this is the first time we’ve spoken. I apologize for always sending my secretary after you in our meetings.” Henry says as the music starts. “Call me Henry.”

The rhythm finds you easily enough. The steps are too easy for your muscles to recall, and you suppose even the memories flood easily enough to your senses too. You shake your head to clear the thoughts away and instead take this time to observe the appearance of your current partner.

He isn’t too shabby, you have to admit. If you close your eyes enough, you can almost pretend that it’s an entirely different person you’re dancing with. You can feel _his_ eyes on you, and you wish you can push down the memory between you two, but you know it’s futile. His presence in your life is as heavy as the burden of the mark you received as a Death Eater.

“Draco,” Henry smirks as you open your eyes and meet his dark ones. It’s not the same voice you wish to hear your name from. “Penny for your thoughts?”

There are no telling signs that he’s a shady wizard. His arms aren’t marked, and you’re sure you know every Death Eater that had once came in your manor. 

“Tell me more about yourself.” You say as you both glide smoothly on the dancefloor, carefully putting a small distance between both of your bodies.

Out of the corner in your eyes, Blaise gives you a smirk of approval. Potter looks in your direction with a tight smile, and you offer him nothing but a blank stare. Your expression is met with a vague flash of emotions, and if you were younger you might’ve deluded yourself to call it ‘jealousy.’

“Ask me what you want to know, Draco,” Henry replies, coyly. Everyone should be thankful for your patience really. It helps with suppressing the urge to walk away from this experience.

“I’m curious,” you say, trying to find the right words to butter him up. There is a smirk on your face as he pays most of his attention to you. You lean closer to the side of his head and whisper. “If we can perhaps continue this in a much more private space, Mr. Knox.”

There is a twinkle in the man’s eyes as you look taken aback with what you’ve said. You suppose it’s far too daring for a Slytherin to act this straightforward. He doesn’t need to know the reason you’re doing this.

(Is it really for Blaise?)

“If you can wait for me while I meet someone later,” His grip on your waist is too tight, and the way his face is close to yours is nauseating. But you don’t show it. “— I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“And do tell if you can share more about your meeting?”

“Secrets are supposed to be secrets. But, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell where I would be.” He laughs as he brings you to a dip. “I’ll be around somewhere near the courtyard, meeting a business partner.”

His hands are creeping lower from your waist, and you tell yourself you don’t mind it. 

He lets you up from your last position, as the music fades and footsteps near you. He drops your hand and releases you from the uncomfortable position as Blaise comes forward, a charming smile on his face.

“Do you mind if I steal Draco for a while?’ Blaise asks politely. You’re grateful for the intervention, but you wouldn’t say it out loud. “It would be nice to reconnect with an old friend.”

“Right. I’ll leave you two then,” Knox says. He leans forward and manages a short, “See you later,” before leaving you in Blaise’s presence. 

“You say reconnect with an old friend as if you don’t barge inside the manor to raid my liquor cabinet.” You turn to Blaise who sends you an unimpressed look.

Blaise pushes his glass of firewhiskey into your hands. “Can’t blame me. Harry said I should probably save you from an uncomfortable situation.”

There’s a lot to unpack in Blaise’s words. You’re not sure where to even start. On one hand, Blaise and Potter are on a first-name basis, and you’ve never recalled a time when they were in the past. On the other note, Potter cared enough for your situation, and you’re torn whether it’s because he still loves you or if it’s because he has a bloody annoying saviour complex.

These things shouldn’t stir up emotions in your stomach, but you’ve decided now would be a good time for unearthing buried feelings. You think about love and unknown paths. You think about how you took it for Potter, and when you remember how his eyes seem to look at you, it would’ve been worth it. Before the rise of Voldemort, the unknown path was something you’d love to get lost in but you’d gotten too lost. You and Potter have pulled away from each other in different tides of time — on different sides of the war, and the weight of it all manifested as the growing distance between you two. It’s not long enough after that night in the manor that Potter wondered where you stood and which direction you’re going.

You traipse through all these, like you had been all these years before you decided to leave all the baggage you carry in a trunk like a boggart waiting to come out from it. Your heart and mind are playing the same thing all over again and it’s grown so loud that you’ve been deafened to hear what they say.

“Cheers,” you choose to tell Blaise instead as you down his drink.

“ _Malfoy_.” For years of someone wishing for their presence, it’s a surprise how you don’t even notice Potter approaching beside you. “Got anything useful?”

“What do you take me for, Potter?” You tilt your head, as you hope the dullness in your voice masks the waves of emotion washing over you. “He has a meeting with a supposed business partner in the courtyard.”

“That’s not helpful at all,” Potter frowns and you’re not sure if you have the urge to punch him for his words or your past.

“Of course.” You say in disbelief. “Only you would say that.”

Potter blinks and shifts his confusion to Blaise. He doesn’t say anything. 

Deciding to take pity, you continue. “He’s already given us where he would be. And he already dropped the possible identities of who he’s meeting.”

“How many possible identities?” Blaise cuts in. “I know Lovegood, Bones, and Longbottom wouldn’t be part of the list.”

“Bullstrode is in France and Greengrass is with my son which puts them out of the list.” There’s a second of Potter’s brows raising at the mention of your son and your ex-wife, but you shake it off to rake through your mind to figure out who else you might be forgetting. “All that’s left is Nott. Given that Knox’s business is small compared to that of his partners, not one of his international investors would be in Britain right now.”

“Never thought there’d be a day we’ll be investigating a fellow housemate.” Blaise remarks, amused. 

“Well, it’s better than you being investigated,” you mumble. You don’t want to get into the memories of your trial from years ago.

“Yeah,” Potter says, shuffling his feet. Why he said that you have no idea. Actually, you do, but you’d rather pretend you’ve forgotten about his presence. He’s nervous by the looks of it, and he probably hasn’t outgrown the habits he had when he was younger. 

You don’t say anything about it.

“I’m leaving to give you space for Auror duties,” you take a step back as you give Blaise the empty glass in your hands. “Best of luck.”

You don’t bother to wait for their response as your feet take you as away as far as possible from the scene. Any minute more spent in public with the Boy Who Lived might make you burst at the seams, like a sectusempra on your chest, and you want to scream.

You drag yourself onto the second floor of the building, into the balcony of an empty room. The view overlooks the empty field and a clear view of the night sky, and you admire silence that fills you with calm. 

You wish you’d brought a bottle of firewhiskey with you but you don’t want to be late and wake up with a hangover the next morning so you gather up all the bitterness in your soul and make do with what you have.

“Malfoy.” Potter’s voice fills the room as he clears his throat. You angle your body from leaning onto the railing to look at him. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “I thought I’d find you here.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments, taking the time to drink in how the pale white light contrasts with his bronze skin. The whole scene feels so surreal that the moment green eyes meet yours, you’re forced to glare at the ground.

“Stalking me, Potter?”

“In your dreams, you arrogant prat.” He bites back, and you’re a little taken aback by his demeanor that you find yourself reminiscing your interactions at the Hogwarts corridors. He must’ve noticed the scowl appearing in your face as he moves to stand next to you, looking at the horizon. “I didn’t mean it like that — it’s just . . . I don’t know . . . I wanted to approach you, I guess, and I really wasn’t sure how to do it.”

His words make you meet his eyes. “Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Ten years,” You say as if those years never poured salt along your still open wounds. Even after all these years, he’s still self-righteous when it comes to matters involving you. There’s no reason for him to approach you as there is no point talking about a future that will never happen and a past so distant it resembles a gaping void rather than anything else. “Why now, Potter?”

“There was never a right time.” He explains. There’s no reason for someone to go as far as to avoid another person in ten years, especially when both of your friends are two circles overlapping with each other while ‘idiots’ or anything that refers to you both are written in the middle with red ink. “I figured I’d take the chance. I missed us.”

There’s no reason for that when your heartstrings are dangling along by a thin thread, slowly ripping off at each fiber. Both of your past are long ago and you’re aware that he knows you’re not the boy he used to remember.

Still, you commend the bravery in taking the risk, even if it’s frankly stupid for him to say those three words. _I missed us_. You’re thankful you’re a Slytherin through and through — you’re not sure if you can stomach the impulsiveness that comes with the Gryffindors.

 _I missed us_ , you think as you search for the reason for those words. His gaze is directed at you now, and not on the horizon. Your sides are too close that your arms brush against each other. You say nothing substantial. You don’t know how to reply. 

“Ten years, Harry.” He blinks at the shift from the name you used to call him. It used to be a secret for the both of you how you say it in a tone that’s unlike any scathing word in your vocabulary. But now the name holds no value, it no longer holds any form of love between you two, and instead, there's what you can consider as hurt in your voice. You gaze at the vast nothingness in front of you. The stars are twinkling. “Shouldn’t you be with Blaise?”

“Blaise needs the promotion.”

“He’s rich enough to not care about that.” You know why Blaise is doing this. He’s one of the Slytherins in your year to pursue being an Auror. In a way, by doing it alone, he’ll be able to prove himself and let the rumors that come with your house that all you would lead to are the destruction of many would be squashed.

“You know why,” Harry says and runs a hand through his hair. “Do you want to dance, Malfoy?”

The question catches you off guard. “Why?”

“Why not?” He smiles, dropping the nonchalance. Suddenly, you’re in fifth year alone in the Astronomy Tower. You know where this is going. “We’ve done this before.”

You want to remind him of the circumstances why you did so but there is a coast of betrayal in how bitter this encounter would be if you did. You’re rational enough to keep all the emotions at bay, but you don’t want to be rational. All you want is to forget the ache in your bones, and the tiredness in your fragile heart. 

Your past has no business in your present. Maybe it did, once upon a time, but both your roads have already diverged to a point of no return. 

“Ten years.” Your eyes don’t leave his. You’re tired of risking for a boy who can never be yours. “Don’t expect me to agree, Potter. Be reasonable.”

“Malfoy —”

“ _Don’t_ ,” you take a step back. “I’ll see you around, Potter.”

You don’t want to see him around. There are no roads for the both of you that meet. 

You take a step forward, and _leave_.

You’re not sure where you want to go, but somewhere. You don’t look back as you try to find your way around. The ache in your bones has rendered you tired and it’s as if you’re walking on air. Your fingers are numb and so is your body as the cold air outside envelopes your whole being.

You’re not sure how you got into the courtyard as fast, but Henry Knox stands there as if he was waiting for you. His eyes flash into a moment of terror, as he slumps into your arms. 

Cool liquid pours out from his back and your shaky hands come into contact with the knife plunged into the man’s back. 

It’s _blood_.

The man is dead.

“Malfoy,” he hears someone call out to him. You realize what this means for you, and you let go of the body as you step back. “ _Draco_.”

You’re twenty-eight years old and green eyes meet yours like the past has come into life again in a war with no choice.

You’re twenty-eight years old, with blood on your hands and everything is a blur.

**Author's Note:**

> that wraps up the first chapter. comments are highly appreciated. if you have time you can check the spotify playlist for this fic [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0jojSYZqDk9Yy1oP0JJtrR?si=Aoonk416Tqe7LHvxNs8HDA)


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